


wrestling angels

by sleeponrooftops



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Deutsch | German, Fluff, Français | French, Language, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I want to see miracles, see the world change.  I wrestled the angel, for more than a name, for more than a feeling, for more than a cause.</i>  It was raining one day.  James walked in on Michael crying to <i>Atonement</i>.  The crew smirked when they were both late.  Michael held James’ hand while they watched <i>Jane Eyre</i>.  They bought the condo they’d used for the press junket.  It was still raining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wrestling angels

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a Charles/Erik. Life is funny like that.
> 
> DISCREPANCIES.
> 
> i - Any movie and music references that haven’t happened yet/are off for the time setting, just ignore them.
> 
> ii – There is both German and French in here, and I’m sorry if it’s off. My roommate can speak German, and I’ve been taking French for nearly three semesters now, but I am still using translators. If you have a problem with the languages, too, I know, from personal experience, that I, myself, and some of my friends and family, like to occasionally use different languages when speaking, so please don’t bash me about it; it just seemed natural for them. Plus, translations are provided in bold parenthesis.
> 
> iii – There is a season screw-up in the beginning. I’m not fixing it. Deal with it.
> 
> iv – The Rilke used is _The Beggar’s Song_ from the poem cycle of _The Voices_. It is Edward Snow’s translation.
> 
> ALSO.
> 
> v – I don’t hate Michael’s blonde hair at all, I just think he does. (and I secretly will never stop swooning over him as a ginger; _gods_ , it’s heart-breaking gorgeous) However, on the topic of hair, I do largely prefer James with short hair, so that’ll show up.
> 
> vi – I don’t care where Michael might actually live. I like to imagine he _does_ live in Ireland, and, well, Galway is my favorite.
> 
> vii – This is, like, obnoxiously long? I didn’t want to separate it into chapters, though, so, whatever, here’s a 12,000 word oneshot. Have fun.

_June._

 

“Let’s see, keys, two sets, just in case, for the each of you, and I just need your signatures,” the woman behind the desk says, smiling pleasantly.  James nods absently and bends to sign the form before holding up the pen and rubbing his face.  No one snatches the pen from him, and so he looks around to find Michael leaning back in his seat and lazily staring out the window.  He reaches over and taps him on the forehead until Michael swats at him and grabs the pen with a German grumble.  _Sie sind ein esel, und ich hasse dich._ **(You are an ass, and I hate you)** And James just responds as cheekily with a French whisper.  _Je t’aime aussi, ma chérie_. **(I love you, too, my darling)** Michael can’t help but smile fondly as he leans back into his seat, blue eyes flashing to meet James’.  The woman stares at them a moment, eyebrow arched, before she looks over the form, nods, and hands over their keys.  “I hope you enjoy your stay, and maybe even come back someday.”

 

James and Michael nod together and stand, taking their keys.  They’re heading out when Michael leans in, “She was so hot for you.  She’s probably fidgeting in her seat, watching us leave right now.  Probably attracted to that damned Scottish ass of yours.”

 

“Shut up, Michael,” James mutters, though he’s grinning.

 

They head out together and to Michael’s damned Corvette because that’s how he is, and James wouldn’t have it any other way.  It’s bright blue, the 2009 ZR1 model, and it’s Michael’s baby.  The engine purrs as they buckle, and they’re off on the road to their three-week condo that they’ll be doing nothing but sleeping and dying at during the post-film press junket for _First Class_.

 

They have these three weeks, uninterrupted except for long, grueling days of interview after interview, just to them, and they’re both impossibly excited.  The condo is beautiful, too.  It’s in a neighborhood of them, typically, but they’re spread out a nice amount, and theirs is up a sloping, gravelly driveway surrounded by a lush lawn.  The painting is a soft blue with handsome grey shutters and roof shingles, and there are three steps up into the actual condo, which has two large windows on either sides of the grey door.  They heave their three weeks worth of things up to the door, and leave their things there until everything is out of the car and it’s parked.  They’ll pick up James’ car at some point, but they’d been out to lunch already and thought it better to just get everything over with Michael’s car.

 

They only have two suitcases each, and they haul those inside to a beautiful first floor.  Windows grace the other three walls, illuminating the floor in a gorgeous, warming light.  The living room, to their right, is sunk into the ground, three steps down, though the kitchen to their left is not.  James arches an eyebrow at Michael, who nods and smiles.  They head toward a staircase that curves through the middle of the floor, separating the two rooms, and they head upstairs to the loft.  It’s separated, as well, though only because the two rooms on opposite sides.  The stairs break out in a small pathway that branches off, and they stop at the top of the stairs.  This is the moment they haven’t really discussed.

 

James practically beams when Michael bumps his arm and nods once toward the room on the left.  As he takes the lead, Michael follows him.  A glass half-wall circles around the pathway and the rooms, high to their waists, but enough to give them privacy, should they need it, which is doubtful.  The entire back wall opposite the pathway is made of window, and, as they observe, the other three walls mirror them.  The bits of wall visible, the corners and ceiling, are a light tan.

 

“It reminds me of the beach,” James says, breaking the silence.

 

Michael bumps his arm again before dropping his suitcases by the bed and then promptly walking out.  “I’m starved; wanna go food shopping?”

 

“Dear God, you’ve been domesticated,” James teases, leaving his things upstairs, as well.

 

“I was always domesticated.  I just don’t like when people refer to me as the bitch shark.”

 

“My handsome shark,” James says, and Michael rolls his eyes, “What, no warning smile?”

 

“Shove it, McAvoy, or you’ll never walk properly again.”

 

“That is _not_ a threat.”

 

They dump their spare keys in the kitchen where they’ll probably forget them before they head back out into the June air and into Michael’s Corvette.  Michael fiddles with the radio before settling on a channel that’s playing the new Snow Patrol song.  And when he relaxes into his seat, he reaches over and steals James’ hand, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles before resting it lightly on the console and lacing their fingers together.  James smiles, blushing and looking out the window.

 

Michael pushes the carriage, claiming to be tired, and James knows.  He knows from the lack of conversation and the lazy pace, he knows from the way he won’t push a stubborn blonde lock from his forehead and the way he yawns sometimes, long and quiet, and he know from the slump of his shoulders and the scuff of his footsteps.  They get all the essentials, then head to the snack foods, break off into the cold aisles, and they’re just looking into beauty needs to make sure they haven’t forgotten anything when Michael suddenly pulls to a stop and snatches James’ wrist.

 

“Wha—”  He doesn’t get to finish the word as Michael tugs him closer and leans down to kiss him, soft and quick.

 

“Nothing,” Michael answers as he pulls back and looks into James’ blue, blue eyes, “That’s all.”

 

James smiles, and they continue on.  Michael looks a little more awake, and he’s a little more enthusiastic as they make their way back to the front of the store where they pay, halving the bill, and somehow pack everything into the Corvette.  The drive home is more animated, full of them talking, pointing out things along the road, and singing off-key to different songs.  They hold hands the entire way.

 

When they finish putting everything away in the kitchen, they decide on take-out, _natürlich_ **(naturally)** , Michael grumbles, and they go to unpack while they wait for the Chinese to arrive.  When Michael opens the sock drawer, James squats under him and opens the shirts drawer, and they continue like this, moving around one another, shutting drawers on each other, and more often than not bumping hips and playfully shoving.  The Chinese still hasn’t arrived when they finish unpacking, and so Michael shoves James onto the bed, mumbling something incoherent before he flops down on top of him.

 

“You’re squishing me,” James grumbles, poking him in the side until Michael rolls off and settles on his back.

 

“I love this bed,” Michael comments, squirming and thrashing annoyingly, “It’s so big and comfy.”

 

“Fuck, stop it.  Christ, Michael,” James bemoans, kicking at him.

 

Michael finally falls still, and they lay there for a time until the doorbell rings, and James pats Michael absentmindedly on the thigh before heading off toward the stairs.  “James,” Michael says softly.

 

“Come downstairs,” James calls up the stairs.

 

Michael groans and forces himself onto his stomach, face pressed into one of the pillows.  It doesn’t smell like James yet, which helps him get up.  He scratches at his jaw, frowning when he meets smooth skin.  He hates the blonde/no beard deal, and he can’t wait until he can let both grow back into his subtle red, and _short_.  This long hair business is just ridiculous.  He can still remember Matthew’s face when he came onset the first day.  He hadn’t dyed his hair because they hadn’t asked him to, but Matthew immediately did when he finally noticed the longer-than-usual red.

 

He pauses on the edge of the bed, hands braced on his knees.  He takes a few breaths before reaching down to unlace his Doc’s.  He lets them thud on the floor, rubs his face, and then slowly goes downstairs, sock feet masking his steps.  James is in the kitchen, putting Chinese food on plates and fixing drinks.  “Mm, reicht gut **(smells good)** ,” Michael sighs, wrapping his arms around James’ waist and kissing the top of his head.

 

“Why are you so sleepy?” James asks, rubbing Michael’s hands for a moment before breaking from his hold.  “Get your stuff.  We’ll look for a movie.  It’s too early for bed.”  Michael follows obediently, and they settle on the spacious couch, James with his legs stretched out, ankles crossed and balanced on the coffee table, while Michael leans into him, legs folded underneath him.  They settle on _Sherlock Holmes_ , which Michael whines incomprehensibly about until James puts down the remote.  He gets him to watch the first scene with Holmes and Watson four times until he concedes to recite it with him.  They laze about, _Holmes_ blending into _I Am Legend_.

 

“I like this channel,” Michael murmurs during a commercial before he collects their dishes.  He sets them into the sink to be washed tomorrow and grabs one of the bottles of whiskey he’s brought.  “Play cards with me,” he demands quietly, stopping behind the couch and threading his fingers into James’ hair.  “There’s a porch out back,” he continues, pulling his fingers back out.

 

“I’m getting a blanket.  Do you want one?”

 

“Yea,” he shrugs, “Sure.”

 

Michael settles outside in the coming dusk, lighting a cigarette after he pours two glasses.  The smoke is curling around him by the time James returns with the blankets and cards Michael forgot.  He sets them down and lights his own cigarette, and they just sit there, smoking, drinking, and _just sitting_.

 

Michael grunts suddenly, snubs out his fag, and takes the deck.  He shuffles it seven times, _naturellement_ **(naturally)** , before dealing, and they play a full game of Rummy 500 before Michael puts his hands over James as he starts to shuffle and leans over the table to kiss him lightly.

 

“I’m cold,” he mumbles, and James laughs.

 

“I’m freezing.”

 

They collect their things, deposit the glasses, whiskey, and cards in the kitchen, and then go upstairs where they take turns in the bathroom that’s in the middle of the floor, opposite the pathway.  Michael is changing into sweats when James asks him in French about brushing his shark smile, “Vous sentez-vous comme un animal? **(Do you feel like an animal?)** ” to which Michael tosses a German swear at him fondly before collapsing on the bed.  He maneuvers under the blankets, and James comes out of the bathroom, smiling.

 

“I can’t get used to it,” he says, waving his hand at Michael’s head, and Michael groans and rolls onto his front.

 

“I hate it,” he mumbles angrily, only relaxing when James is suddenly straddling his back, butt perched on his, and digging his fingers into his upper back and shoulders.  “Fucking love you,” Michael slurs, melting into the mattress and sighing.  James continues his slow movements, ultimately moving onto his lower back, and he can’t help himself as he swipes a thumb under the waistband of Michael’s sweats and skims across his ass.  Michael shifts, and, suddenly, his hand is flying through the air and grabbing at James.  James follows his blind grabbing, allowing himself to be pulled down so that he’s parallel with Michael, legs still parted over his back and meshing with his.  They lay like that for a moment or two until Michael all but tosses him off and onto his back, rolling over himself and landing on top of James.

 

“Hey,” he says before kissing him, slow and purposeful.  He perches over him like he’s cornering his prey, forearms braced on either side of his head and hips carefully up an inch or two away.  His legs are on the outside now, and he smiles as he pulls back, looking down at James.

 

“You look like you’re doing a plank,” James teases before arching his neck up and drawing Michael back down into a kiss.

 

Michael licks into his mouth, sucking on his tongue until James moans and his hands curl around the nape of Michael’s neck, fisting in the delicate hairs at the base of his head.  Michael shivers at the contact, leaning up until they have to break and his forehead is resting against James’.  He lowers his hips slowly, grinding up against James, whose breath hitches and eyes close.

 

“Michael,” he breathes, saying his name like prayer.

 

“James,” he responds before kissing him again, deep and sure.  He rocks his hips forward again, and this time James responds, pushing up off the mattress to meet him.  They move together like this, slow and silent, until Michael suddenly pulls away from his mouth, panting.  His lips retreat as does one of his arms.  It moves to seek James’ wrist, taking it to pin above his head.  As he bites along James’ jaw, his other arm moves to do the same.  James sighs, head tilting back and producing the pale arch of his neck.

 

“ _Götter_ , **(Gods)** ” Michael hisses, reaching up to lick a path under James’ ear before stopping right where the lobe meets jaw and biting sharply, eliciting a high gasp from James.  The body under him squirms, and he doesn’t stop until James moans and twists his wrists under Michael’s grip.  He pulls back from the puckered skin, smirking wickedly, and he stoops to kiss it wetly before retreating back down his neck.

 

“This,” Michael says, tugging down James’ collar, and the smaller man immediately understands, lifting his back.  Michael quickly pulls it up and lets James tug it off as he leans back onto his heels and grabs for the back of his t-shirt.  It comes off in one fluid motion before he leans back down.  James meets him halfway, hand cupping around his neck, and they sink back onto the bed, swollen lips slow and hungry.

 

James takes advantage of Michael’s distraction to move his hands, tracing them over his sides and back before resting on his ass and squeezing, pushing Michael away from his mouth and up a little.  Michael smirks and allows it because he knows what James wants.  He pulls his head back, sighing when James licks into the hollow his throat, kissing softly.

 

“Mach liebe mit mir, **(Make love to me)** ” James says slowly, his German choppy because he’s still learning, and Michael’s heart swells.

 

“Immer, liebling, **(Always, darling)** ” he whispers, leaning back down to kiss him passionately.  He pulls back to look at James’ face, smiling when he realizes he’s blushing.  “I didn’t teach you that,” he says quietly, brushing his nose against James’.

 

“I looked it up.  And I may have been studying on my own, as well.”

 

“And I’m not even really French,” James snorts, and Michael can’t help but laugh softly.

 

“But you do have some odd fascination with les merveilles du monde français. **(the wonders of the French world)** ”

 

“Mm,” James purrs, leaning up to catch Michael’s mouth again.  They kiss long and deep until their need for oxygen overwhelms them, and they part, Michael moving down the length of James’ body, kissing as he goes.  His tongue flicks under the waistband of James’ pajama bottoms, and James lifts his hips a little, encouraging.  Michael nods toward the bedside table before sitting up and pulling down James’ bottoms and briefs in one tug.  He discards the items and gets off the bed to quickly shed the rest of his clothes.  Neither of them are fully hard yet, and Michael is drifting dangerously close to the edge of exhaustion.

 

“Come here,” James demands, reaching up and missing.  Michael smiles and leans into his touch, sighing and closing his eyes as James pushes their mouths together.  He settles back on top of him, grinding slowly against him.  Michael flattens a hand on his chest, looking for his pulse, and he matches his movements to that.  It’s a little faster, and James’ breath hitches again as Michael groans and drops his head to nuzzle in James’ hair.

 

“Michael,” he gasps, curling his fingers in the blonde hair, “Michael, please.”

 

He immediately obliges, taking the bottle of lube from James’ other hand and uncapping it, his fingers trembling as James touches his hips lightly and pushes up into him, hard and warm.  “Gods, James,” he says, breathless as he finally gets the cap off and tucks it against his palm.  “Fuck.”  He hunts down James’ mouth, and, in the space of a breath, he’s a little more awake and a lot more demanding.  James bucks up into him again when he nibbles on his bottom lip, and he slides his hand between them, slick and cool with lube.

 

“Fucking shit,” James gasps, arching when one finger slides in.  “Is that—minty?” he chokes on the last word, groaning and rocking down onto Michael’s hand.  He has to strain to understand his Scottish accent, always thicker when he’s aroused, though he knows he’s just as hard to comprehend and, even worse for James, sometimes prone to forget how to speak English.

 

“Gebrauchte es auf mich den anderen—tag, **(I used it on myself the other day)** ” Michael pants, grinning when he pushes another finger in and stretches, causing James to tilt his head back in a silent gasp, “verdammt—erstaunlich. **(fucking amazing)** ”

 

“Why wasn’t I there?” James says, finally lowering back onto the bed only to have Michael scissor before he pushes in the third finger, maneuvering deep and rubbing the pads of his fingers upward, reaching James’ prostate.

 

“You were, I think,” Michael says, picking up a steady rhythm that has James panting, “Ich kann mich nicht erinnem. **(I can’t remember)** ”

 

“I was watching.  I remember.  I walked in, _oh_ ,” he breaks off when Michael pulls out.  He looks down, confusion written over his face, and Michael almost laughs.  He’s _always_ confused, always forget this means he’s getting what he wants.  Michael slicks his dick, breath coming in heavy pants as James inches closer to him.

 

“Patience,” he says, the French coming out thick and heavy.  He moves forward, nudging James knees lightly until he moves them up, legs parted as he draws them to his chest.  “ _Gods_ ,” he breathes, leaning down to kiss his ankle, “You’re beautiful.”

 

James blushes, and Michael lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging lightly at James’ entrance.  He teases, pushing in just an inch or so and pulling back out, making James squirm, and he continues this exhausting movement until they’re both out of breath and Michael has to lower onto his forearms, chest heaving.

 

“Michael,” James says softly, taking his face in both hands and turning his head up so he can kiss him, “Michael, make love to me.”

 

And he does exactly that, finding a pace that’s both satisfying and slow, crawling them toward their climaxes.  “Michael,” James pants suddenly, grasping at his shoulders, and Michael nods, once, pushing himself up on one hand and moving the other to James’ leaking cock, fingers wrapping and squeezing.  The smaller man lets out a breathy moan and leans up into his touch, breaking a deep moan from Michael that he can’t stop.

 

James stills immediately, staring up at him, and Michael meets his gaze, mouth open in a pant.  In the six months they’ve been together, that has _never_ happened.  Sure, he makes plenty of manly noises, grunts and groans and the such, but never before has he _moaned_ , or, James’ secret wish, broken completely apart to a scream.

 

Michael’s pace has slowed, and James frowns now, pushing up into him again, and Michael gasps.  They move together, in sync, and James watches as the man above him unravels, no longer in control and discovering the bliss of losing all higher thought like James usually does.

 

“James,” Michael suddenly stammers, hips moving a little harder and faster, “Fuck, James.”  James matches his movements, bucking up until he feels Michael’s grip on his cock slip in time with his hips, faster, harder, tighter, and his heart thuds hard against his ribs as blinding pleasure trickles down his spine, pooling in his belly.  His ass clenches instinctively, desperate to keep Michael inside of him as he feels his climax build and build until he can’t stand it any longer, and he arches off the mattress, biting his lip and letting the bubbling groan spill from his mouth.  He comes in long strands across his stomach and Michael’s fingers, gasping as Michael slams into him, sending tremors of stimulation through him until he almost can’t stand it, and then Michael’s hips stutter, and he hitches into a high-sounding gasp, hands fisting in the sheets, one next to James’ hand, which he turns his head to kiss, and the other on the mattress next to his hip.

 

“Shit,” Michael gasps, head hanging as he rides out the rest of his orgasm, shaking and panting.  When they finally slow to a stop, both men are thoroughly exhausted and James can already feel the dead weight of sleep seeping into the taller man’s form.  He reaches up a hand to card his fingers through Michael’s hair, and that seems to motivate him because he pushes back up onto his hands and slowly pulls out of James, and they both make small noises at the loss.

 

“Let me get you a towel,” Michael whispers, his voice rough.  He bends to kiss James softly before he slowly pads over to the bathroom.  He rubs a hand through his hair, snatches a hand towel from the pile, and throws it at the smaller man when he’s within distance.  By the time James is sitting up and tossing the towel away from the bed to be picked up tomorrow, Michael is settling in next to him, eyes heavy and body sinking gratefully into the mattress.

 

“Go to sleep,” James orders softly when Michael fights to keep his eyes open, blue gaze fixed on James.  At the order, however, he’s dips immediately into the clutches of sleep and is snoring quietly in seconds.  James smiles fondly down at him before placing a kiss on his forehead and sliding down so that he can tuck his head under Michael’s and sleep in his arms.

 

\--

 

Michael shifts, eyes stirring under the lids before he falls still again, grasping back the dream he’d been having.  He sinks back into it, allowing himself to fall prey to it, and he makes a soft noise of contentment.  He’s dreaming about James and kind of last night, and it’s sending small, trickling fires of want through his body, but he’s happy to just relax into them and let them overwhelm him for a while longer.  But then, quite suddenly, a hand brushes up against his stomach, and Michael stirs from the dream again, almost coming to the breath of wakefulness when the hand retreats, and he sighs, sinking back into the mattress.  The dream feels very, _very_ real, and he lifts his hips without meaning to, and a moan sounds.

 

Michael’s eyes flare open, gaze immediately shooting downward, and his breath catches in his throat as he’s greeted by James’ blue, _blue_ eyes, staring up at him, his pink lips stretched around his cock.  “Oh,” Michael says, the word sticking in his throat.  “Hi.”

 

James smiles, a soft laugh reverberating around Michael’s cock, and he chokes back a noise, lifting his hips up again.  He’s already so close, and he realizes his dream must have shifted to James when the younger man had licked the curve of his thigh.  He can remember _that_ from his dream, and he realizes now it was very much real.

 

James’ hand comes into his view, searching for his own, and Michael produces it, jaw unhinging as James puts it atop his head.  “ _Gods_ , James,” he says, fisting his fingers and going slack when James releases his hips and loosens his lips a little.  He moves his hips experimentally, groaning when James takes all of him, the head of his cock hitting the back of his throat.  James moans encouragingly, and Michael feels fire trickle down his spine as he sees the younger man’s hand disappear beneath him, no doubt working his own cock.

 

He fucks up into James’ mouth slowly, breath hitching at the sight, and it’s only a few lifts until his fingers tighten and a tremor shakes through him.  James tightens his lips, and Michael comes down his throat, stilling his thrusts and moaning when James’ tongue presses against the vein.  As he pulls off to swallow, he sucks at the head, tongue sliding along the slit, and Michael jerks back onto the mattress, gasping and writhing.

 

“Fucking hell, James,” he sighs when he pulls off, “Good morning to you, too.”

 

James grunts in response, and he’s still hunched over.  Michael watches him, trying to catch his breath.  He slides a foot down, nudging James’ free hand, and James immediately reacts, taking his ankle and scratching.  He knows James loves to have something to hold onto, something to busy his free hand with.  He’s always fisting his hands in the sheets, clenching and unclenching, because he can’t bear being still.

 

“Baby,” Michael encourages, and then James’ grip on his ankle tightens, and he fucking _growls_ , forehead coming down to meet Michael’s knee as he orgasms, shoulders shaking.

 

They take a few moments to collect themselves before James leans up to kiss Michael softly, and Michael smiles when he retreats.  “Eggs?” he offers, and James grins.

 

While he heads off to shower, Michael dresses in jeans and a black button-up, grabbing his fedora on the way to hide this hideous blonde hair.  He goes downstairs barefoot for now, drops the fedora on the island in the kitchen, and then starts on breakfast, making eggs, bacon, and hash browns.  He’s just sticking two pieces of bread in the toaster when James gets out of the shower and starts moving about upstairs.  After he’s poured orange juice in a carrying bottle for himself and water in James’, he takes the coffee off and pours them two steaming mugs.

 

James appears, dropping a pile of things onto the island and coming over to wind his arms tightly around Michael, leaning up to kiss his ear and then hug him briefly.  “I love you,” he barely whispers, and Michael beams as James releases him.

 

They settle at the island, and Michael looks over at the pile: James is reading A Clash of Kings from the _A Song of Ice and Fire_ series, so that’s there, along with Michael’s current book, a compilation of German poetry by Rilke, and then there’s their sunglasses, and Michael’s socks.  It’s endearing that he thought to grab all that, and Michael can’t help but reach over to close his hand over James’ and rub his thumb over the soft skin.

 

“I love you, too,” he murmurs, and James blushes and smiles.

 

When they finally leave at seven o’clock, they’re running a little late, and so James fiddles with the radio while Michael concentrates on not getting caught while he goes twenty above the speed limit.  “We’re on the highway, whatever,” he’d argued with a frowning James.

 

The day that follows is long and hard, and, on their third break, Michael darts outside, relishing in the biting air.  James doesn’t follow him, but they don’t usually spend their breaks together.  Neither of them ever feel particularly inclined to talk when they’re not interviewing, and those alone tire them out enough.

 

And so he lights up once outside, sucking in the smoky death gratefully.  He crosses his arms, huddling in his thin shirt, wishing he’d thought to grab his jacket before he went outside.

 

“Forget something?” a soft voice says from behind him a few seconds later as he’s reaching up to pluck the cigarette from between his mouth and tap the ashes.  He looks over his shoulder, smiling at James, and taking the proffered jacket.

 

“Merci,” he says with a smile.  James smokes alongside him, and they stand there in silence together, but something’s pulling at Michael’s mind, something they’ve both been ignoring for a while now.  “James,” he starts slowly, not moving, “James, I don’t want this to end.”

 

“Hey, guys, break’s up.  The next interviewer is getting ready,” an agent says, peeking out from the door.

 

They both nod, and it’s another minute before they finish with the cigarette, and James takes Michael’s hand, lifting it to his lips.  “We’ll talk tonight, okay?” he promises, and Michael nods.

 

The rest of the day goes by smoothly, and they don’t talk about it.  Michael knows he’s supposed to bring it up again, but he can’t seem to grasp at the nerve.  They don’t spend their breaks together for the next three days, and, on the fourth night, he showers instead of talking or fucking.  They usually switch off in the mornings, but he’s feeling particularly beat up, and he’s afraid.

 

Once behind the sliding glass door, he leans against the wall, forehead leaning against his arm as the hot water beats on his back.  He calls for James without even realizing, and James climbs in behind him and immediately wraps his arms around him.

 

“Look at me,” he whispers, and Michael turns, burrowing his face in James’ neck.

 

“Je ne veux jamais que ça finisse, **(I never want this to end)** ” he mumbles, nervous, “Jamais. **(Never)** ”

 

“Michael—” James tries, but he cuts him off.

 

“James, I—I—” he struggles before softly cursing himself.  Why does he feel like he has to hide?  “I never want this to end,” he finally says in English.  Because they don’t talk about this.  “I never—I need you.”

 

James nudges his shoulder until Michael lifts his head, and he cups his jaw, staring up at him curiously.  “Ich bin hier richtig. **(I’m right here)** I’m right here.  I’m right here.  Ici, **(Here)** ” he says, pointing at Michael’s chest, and Michael breaks, breath hitching.  “I’ve always kind of loved Ireland.”

 

Michael chokes on his breath, stooping to capture James’ mouth in a needy kiss.  “ _Götter_ , I love you.”

 

James just laughs and kisses him again, harder this time.  “And I love you,” he says when they part again.

 

“You don’t have to move to Ireland,” Michael says, rubbing his nose against James’, “I could move to London.”

 

“I’ve been to your house,” James remarks, and Michael laughs, “It’s gorgeous, for lack of a better word.  I’d rather go there.  Unless you want to live in London.  I just don’t have a very big place.”

 

“Is this really obvious?”

 

“Incredibly,” James sighs, and Michael frowns.  “We—we couldn’t hide anymore.”

 

“We don’t really,” Michael points out, and James laughs.

 

“Very true, we don’t.”

 

They look at each other for a long moment before Michael detaches himself and reaches for the shampoo.  He winks at James, who holds out his hand, and they shower in silence, working around one another for a time until Michael touches his wrist, the lightest whisper of skin.

 

“I want you by my side.”

 

“Okay, Erik,” James teases, and Michael sticks out his tongue.

 

“I’m serious.”

 

“I know.  If—if you think you can do this, then I think I can, too.  People already think we’re in love, anyway.”

 

“Well, we’ll just have to prove them right.”

 

“We’re really doing this?”

 

“I want to.”

 

“Good.  So do I,” James affirms, beaming.  Michael laughs at him before pecking him on the lips and reaching around him to shut off the water.

 

They go to bed sans clothes, wrapped away in each other’s arms.  The next morning over breakfast, they decide to wait until after the junket to do anything seriously public, though they let an interviewer or two and some of the camera crew catch them holding hands or talking discreetly, smiling adoringly at one another.  It starts to catch on, and there’s this little buzz of gossip on their fourth break when Michael goes out for a smoke and James heads for the bathroom.

 

Michael’s just pocketing his pack when his mobile rings, and he frowns, digging in his jacket pocket.  He doesn’t even remember taking it out of the car.  The caller ID flashes the name “Jennifer Lawrence (firstclass)”, and he nods to himself, sliding down the lock bar and putting the phone to his ear.

 

“Michael!” Jen exclaims, “How are you?  I haven’t talked to you in forever!”

 

“I’m good.  Working on the junket right now.  Don’t we have that group interview tomorrow?”

 

“Yea, yea, I’m so excited.  I can’t wait to see you guys again.  Gosh, it’s been so long, really.”

 

It hasn’t, but Michael lets that slide.  He knows she has a crush on him, has known it from the second they did a cold read of the script, and her shoulders straightened importantly at their scene in Erik’s room.  “How are you, Jen?” he asks, moving on.

 

“Excellent, actually!”

 

Whatever else she says falls on deaf ears because James’ arms are suddenly looping around his waist, and he smiles and turns, kissing him on the forehead.  “Hello, gorgeous.”  James makes a cute noise and burrows his cold nose in Michael’s neck, causing him to laugh softly.

 

“Michael?”

 

“Sorry, what was that, Jen?”

 

“Jen Lawrence?” James asks, and he nods.

 

“Who’re you talking to?”

 

“Oh, James is here.  We’re on break right now.”

 

“That’s actually why I came out.  I’ve been ordered to collect you.”

 

“Oh!” Jen exclaims, clearly having overheard, “Well, I’ll let you go.  I can’t wait to see you tomorrow!  Tell James I said hello!”

 

“Sure thing.  Bye, Jen.”

 

When he hangs up, James arches an eyebrow, and Michael shoves him, grinning.

 

\--

 

The next day, they’re up earlier than usual, and they’re out of the house by six.  When they arrive, they completely miss Rose and January just getting out of their cars, and so they forget to conceal themselves.  James is just finishing a joke as they cross the parking lot, and Michael laughs loudly, taking the younger man’s hand and tugging him over.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and kissing the top of his head, “Did you know that?”

 

“Du bist ein arsch, weißt du das?” **(You’re an ass, did you know that?)**

 

“Mm, I love it when you swear, meine freche deutsch, **(my naughty German)** ” he growls softly, nudging the side of James’ face until he turns his mouth to Michael’s, and they kiss hard and hungry.  They part when they get near the doors, but there’s this magnetism between them that keeps them close by each other’s sides.

 

They’re show to the dressing room when they enter, and they chat lightly, Michael spinning around in his chair, until the others arrive and they’re all refocused to a set of hair and makeup artists each.  “Hey James,” Rose says as they’re nearly finished, “Mind if I steal you for a moment?”

 

“Oh, sure.”

 

The moment never comes as they’re ushered out the second they’re done with.  The interview goes flawlessly, though there’s this definite air between Michael and James now.  Michael doesn’t really notice a difference beside that, the electricity, and he’s happy.  They don’t need to be overly publically touchy.  They’re just _them_.

 

When they’re finally done, Jen mentions lunch, and everyone jumps at the idea.  So they go to someplace with good food and even better beer.  “Do we have anything back at the studio today?” James asks when Michael is browsing their daily emailed schedule.

 

“Not that I can see.  Just a few more group ones.”  He finds James’ hand under the table and ghosts his fingers over the back of it.

 

“And our night?”

 

“Shockingly, free.  I’ll make dinner if you provide dessert.”

 

“Smooth, Fassbender.”

 

Michael takes his hand back to put away his mobile and sip his beer.  They fall into familiar chatter, and it’s only halfway through that Michael notices the way January is looking at them.  He brings it up in the car when they’re on their way to the next show.  “I know.  I saw.  Do you think they saw something?” James says offhandedly.

 

“Like what?”

 

“I dunno.  Does it really matter, though?”

 

“No,” Michael smiles, squeezing his hand.

 

The rest of the day goes by smoothly, and they’re back to the house at a relatively early hour.  Michael opens windows in the kitchen so he can smoke while he cooks, and James sets up with a deck of cards to play solitaire, chatting away.  It’s so calm and adoring, the atmosphere, and they both loosen themselves immensely, laughing and loving.  Before long, they’ve found their way to the roof and are curled together, smoking and talking.  James is between Michael’s legs, a blanket pulled up to his chin.  Another is draped around Michael’s shoulders, his head resting lightly against James’.  After a time, silence settles softly around them, Michael’s hand in James’ hair and James breathing very softly.  Michael lets his eyes close, snuggled close, and, when he opens them again, it’s dark.

 

“James,” he mumbles, shaking the younger man from his slumber, “James, come on,” he whines.

 

“Fucking hold on,” James yawns.

 

“No, get off, my legs are asleep.”

 

When he still doesn’t move, Michael actually shoves him off and rolls over.  James grumbles something nasty about him, but he ignores it and tries to wiggle his legs.  And then they hear it.  “Michael?”  They look over at one another, wait until the voice comes again, and then hurry to scramble back down into the house.

 

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” James says, kissing him lightly before they separate.

 

“Jen,” Michael greets as he comes down the stairs, “Sorry, I was on the roof.”  He hugs her hello, trying to look inconspicuous when he pulls away.

 

“The roof?” she asks, arching an eyebrow suspiciously.

 

“Smoking,” he clarifies, shrugging, “So, how can I help you?”

 

“I, uh, I heard something today.”

 

Suddenly, she’s much closer, body pressed against Michael’s, and he flinches back, clearing his throat.  “Jen—”

 

“Something I know you’ll deny,” she continues, and he steps back again as she molds to him, eyes darkening and lips parted.

 

“Jen—” he breaks off, jumping back with a small exclamation.  He didn’t notice her hands creeping down his sides until her fingers are tugging at his belt.  She quickly follows his movement, ripping the belt open and grabbing his shirt to pull him back to her.  “Jen,” he says, his voice stern, taking her by the arms and trying to move her away.

 

“I thought January must have been joking,” she laughs hollowly, her hands sliding around him and under his t-shirt.

 

He struggles against her, not wanting to hurt her, and he actually manages to detach her, staring at her wildly.  “Jen, you need to sto—”

 

“Michael,” she cuts him off, and then her mouth is on his, and he gasps, wrenching back.  She gapes at him, clearly offended, and he’s about to put up his hands and explain when she attacks him, growling out his name and shoving him into the wall.  He tries to jerk away from her and only ends up slamming his head against the wall.

 

“I don’t understand,” she says, her voice shaking and angry, “I can give you so much more.”

 

“Jen,” he gasps, his head throbbing, and he feels like he’s fighting for oxygen.  White hot agony trickles down his spine, rendering him immobile.

 

“Why, Michael?  Why?”  She hits him in the chest, and he chokes.

 

“Hey!”  Jen jumps back, and Michael immediately sags, his body giving way to the floor.  “What did you _do_?” James exclaims, hurrying over.

 

“Fuck,” Michael groans when he pulls up his shoulder, supporting his head.  “James, my head, fucking shit.”

 

“You’re bleeding,” James confirms, “Jen, I need to get dressed.  Don’t touch him, or… so help me God.  Michael… êtes-vous— **(are you)** ”

 

“Einfach gehen, **(Just go)** ” Michael says through gritted teeth, and James nods once before sprinting back up the stairs.  Jen gapes at him as he leaves.

 

“Michael,” she says softly, looking over.

 

“Don’t,” he says stiffly, struggling to push himself up, “Don’t.  I am happy with James, Jen.”

 

“ _With_?” she squeaks.

 

“Yes, _with_.  Together.  In love.  _Fucking_ ,” he gasps, his breath coming in pants, “As a couple.”

 

Jen doesn’t say another word.

 

\--

 

James is busy cancelling and rescheduling the interviews for the next day when Michael meanders down, yawning.  “Hi, Alexander.  It’s James McAvoy.  I know this is super short notice, but Michael Fassbender was taken to the hospital for a concussion tonight, and we have to cancel for tomorrow.  We have some slots open next week if you could call us back.  Thank you.”

 

“That sounds rehearsed,” Michal comments, opening the fridge.  James flashes him an index card, and he smiles.

 

“How are you feeling?” James asks as Michael sits across him to spread cream cheese on a bagel.

 

“Foggy.  I’m having trouble remembering if you’re mad at me or if I already explained.”

 

“In less than eloquent terms, yes, you did.”

 

“Wow, is it one o’clock already?  Why are you doing the calls?”

 

“Bethany told me to go die,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes before he starts to leave another message.  Four more phone calls and a gulp of orange juice to chase his bagel, and Michael coaxes James to bed, where they pass out into a heavy sleep.

 

When James wakes in the morning, it’s to a high sun and a snoring Michael.  He slowly shifts, yawning and stretching before he pulls himself up, the blankets pooling around his waist.  He looks over to Michael, smiling.  The concussion had induced a small fever, and so he’d gone to bed shirtless, so now the muscles in his bare back are left open for viewing.  James sneakily lifts the blankets to peek at the small round of his boxer-covered ass, quickly dropping them when Michael shivers.  He smiles and lays back down, propping up on one elbow and tracing the other hand over Michael’s back, watching as his shoulders bunch occasionally and the muscles in his lower back stretch.  James leans down to kiss the bare skin before carefully climbing out of bed and heading downstairs.  Since it’s nearly noon, James puts together two sandwiches, hunts down some chips, and then grabs a tall glass of orange juice and two waters.

 

“Sometimes,” James begins as he hears Michael shuffle and sit, “I think you’d just prefer juice boxes.”

 

“Oh, nectar of the gods,” Michael praises, taking the juice, “Merci, mein libeling.”

 

James just smiles and settles in bed with him to eat, and this is how they spend the day, lounging about.  It’s a slow day, for which they are grateful, and they even go to bed early, ready for the coming day.

 

\--

 

_September._

“Good thing you don’t have a lot of stuff,” Orlando snorts, looking around the flat.  James smiles as he continues marking the boxes.  “You never did tell me where you were going.  Ireland, I know, but—”

 

“Galway.”

 

“What the hell is in Galway?” Orlando asks, disbelieving.

 

“Michael,” James answers quietly, and Orlando gawks.  James sighs, finally turning.  “I know, I should have told you, but I dunno.  It was so natural that I just didn’t think about it.”

 

“Natural?” Orlando repeats, “Moving to another country is _natural_?  Wait a minute, I didn’t even know you were _gay_.  Not that it’s a problem, but since when?”

 

“Always,” James shrugs, “More bi, I’d say.  It just… happened.”

 

“Well, I guess I knew it would.  Gods, James, you should hear how you used to talk about him when we’d talk.  I guess I knew you were in love.  Ireland, huh.  You always wanted to live there.  So, how long?”

 

“Officially, like, eight months.”

 

“Officially?”

 

“I think when we got tested and he said he actually wanted commitment.”

 

“Well then,” Orlando laughs, “How soon did that happen?”

 

“One month into shooting.”

 

“ _Hell_ , James.”

 

Their conversation is cut off, however, as James’ mobile rings.  “Bonjour, ma chérie,” he answers, smiling and turning away from Orlando’s cheeky grin.

 

“I want to fuck you so hard.”

 

James nearly chokes.  “W-what?”

 

“I youtubed James McAvoy sex scenes, and I miss you.”

 

“Where are you?” he asks of the loud noise in the background, trying to get the image of Michael getting off to _his_ sex scenes out of his mind.

 

“Gym with Chris,” Michael takes the bait, “Have you left yet?”

 

“I have not.  My flight isn’t until tomorrow morning, and the moving truck is running late.”  Michael whines, and James laughs.  “I’ll be there soon.  Tomorrow afternoon.  You’re still picking me up, yea?”

 

“Natürlich.  You can finally meet Max and Lucy.  They’re so excited.  And, I have a surprise.”

 

“KITTENS!” Chris yells, and James croons.

 

“I love cats!”

 

“Of course you do,” Michael sighs, “His name is Chester.”

 

“I thought that was the turtle.”

 

“Right.  Fuck.  Chris, what’s the stupid cat’s name?”

 

“Thor.”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“It is.  He responds to it.”

 

“Lies.”

 

There’s this sound like a shuffle and some arguing and, quite suddenly, James is talking to Michael’s best friend for the first time.  “Hello, James, dear.  The cat’s name is Thor.  He was originally bamf, but Michael and Max didn’t agree with that.  then he was Lex Luther because Michael has an eternal boner for bad guys.  He’s lucky I intervened.  So his name is Thor now.  Sound good?”

 

“Trés bonne. **(Very good)** ”

 

“Gods, he’s good.  Here, I’m not talking foreign.”

 

“Mon petit cœur, **(my little heart)** ” Michael pauses, “Alright, I gotta go.  Chris wants to swim.  I’ll see you soon.  Je t’aime.”

 

“Je t’aime aussi,” James murmurs with a smile before hanging up.  Orlando has disappeared into another room, and so James goes to hunt him down.

 

\--

 

Michael’s house is _beautiful_.

 

James gawks at it awhile until Michael nudges him forward and then takes his hand.  “What _are_ you?”

 

“An alien.  I have come to take your brains.”

 

“Zombie,” James accuses, “But seriously.”

 

“This house has been in my family since its foundation in the 1700s.  it has passed to every Fassbender, male and female, and it’s been mine since my parents passed when I was twelve.”

 

“Do you have any other family?” James asks softly.

 

“I do.  I have two younger sisters, both of whom are married and have children, and I also have a younger brother that just got married two years ago.  I know it’s not the Xavier mansion, but it’s ours.”

 

 _Ours_.  The word rings in James’ ears, and he can’t help but smile.

 

It’s clearly been renovated over the years, but it definitely still looks and feels old.  Through the front doors is a massive foyer with a staircase that curls around the back wall.  The boxes that had arrived before him are piled in this room, everything James owns, packed away.  “We can put everything away later.  Chris said he’d bring Liam by to help.”

 

“Liam is his younger brother?”

 

Michael nods before taking James to the left where a massive, open kitchen resides.  Over to the right is a grand living room with large windows that show the gorgeous landscape around them.  The house sits upon a hillside, a twenty-minute drive from the town.  Michael quickly shows him a handsome sitting room behind the foyer before they wind up the stairs, coming around to James’ soon-to-be favorite floor.

 

It is split in half, the left wing devoted to the master bedroom and the right wing to a library.  “You can see that later,” he waves away the bedroom.  They quickly go up to the third floor where four guest rooms reside, and then the fourth floor with another two guest rooms and a few empty rooms, one of them used for storage.

 

“ _Honey_!” a voice sings as they’re descending.

 

“Christopher, darling!” Michael claps him on the back once in the foyer, smiling.  “Chris, Liam, this is James.  James, the Hemsworth’s.”

 

They shake hands, and there’s some small talk before they start with the boxes, heaving things upstairs.  It doesn’t take long, just an hour or so, and then Michael is preparing lunch for them.  They talk, laugh, and drink, and it’s only when the afternoon is fading that Chris stands to leave.  “Alright, lovebirds, Liam and I have dinner with the rents tonight, so we gotta head out.  I’ll give you one week of reckless sex, and then I’m ringing for the gym.  Avengers, man,” Chris warns, looking to Michael.  They exchange their goodbyes, and Michael laughs out loud when the door closes and James crosses to him.

 

“You’re a ginger again,” he says happily, threading his fingers in Michael’s short hair and grinning.

 

“Thanks heavens.  C’mon, let’s go get you settled.”

 

They head upstairs to the second floor and into Michael’s bedroom, which James is in love with.  The bedding is a deep, emerald green, and the curtains shine white in the dying sunlight, casting a golden glow about the white walls.  The wood of the headboard, dresser, desk, and floor is dark and rich.  Michael’s bed, a king, is in the middle of the wall, the massive window opposite the door, and the dresser next to the door leading into the bathroom.  The desk is next to the window, and a wide flat screen is mounted against the wall opposite the bed.

 

“This place is just insane,” James comments halfway through the boxes.  “Honestly, Michael, it’s beautiful.”

 

“I’m glad you like it.”

 

Michael watches him work for a few minutes before crossing through the maze and taking James’ writs.  James turns, curiosity written all over his face, and Michael just bends to kiss him hungrily.  The weeks of separation suddenly come rushing back to James, and he reaches for Michael’s waist, steadying himself.

 

“ _Gods_ , James,” Michael groans suddenly, pulling away.

 

“I know,” James murmurs before slipping one hand to Michael’s neck to bring their mouths back together.  Their hands move frantically, tugging off clothes and _finally_ , gasping when skin meets skin.  One of James’ cool hands immediately skims down to grasp Michael’s cock, and the ginger responds by biting James’ shoulder.

 

“Michael,” James pants, his other hand tightened still around his neck, “Michael, _fuck me_.”

 

“Fucking hell, McAvoy.”  They stumble onto the bed, James straddling Michael’s hips and grinding down into him.  Michael groans and meets him.  “Fuck, stop,” he hisses after a few moments.  “Get off.”  James obeys, smirking when Michael nudges him further, and he turns over onto his knees, hands grasping the headboard, and all Michael can do is stare.  In a flash, he’s off the bed, and then he’s back, fingers slick with the cool, minty lube that James loves.  The smaller man arches away and gasps as one finger presses in.  “Baby, you’re so tight,” Michael sighs, rocking his hand up into James’ ass.  “Gods, I want to be inside of you so bad.”

 

“Michael,” James whines.  Michael squeezes James’ ass the same time he jerks and curls his finger.  James pants out a choked cry, and Michael can’t stand it anymore.  As he shoves a third finger in quickly, stretching, he preps himself, breath already hitched.  He tugs his fingers out and slams into James, settling so that his ass is fit against the curve of his hips before he places one hand on James’ hip and the other over James’ left hand on the headboard.  It is a near-violent and loud fuck.

 

Michael takes care to find James’ prostate quickly, and he rubs over it repeatedly, sending tremors of pleasure through James, who, in turn, matches Michael’s movements so that Michael is gasping into his neck, nipping at his back, and moaning helplessly.  Ever since that first time, James has sworn to _always_ bring Michael as high as he can, if only to hear these glorious sounds.

 

“Fucking close,” Michael grunts suddenly, and James gasps, stars popping in his eyes as Michael curls a hand over his throbbing and leaking cock.  “Yea?” Michael pants, swiping his thumb over the head and pushing softly against the slit.

 

“ _Fuck_ , Michael,” James moans, head dropping forward.  Michael strokes him slowly, feeling his own orgasm build, fire singing through him until he swipes his thumb again and squeezes, and James comes undone, letting out a breathy moan and clenching down on Michael’s dick.

 

Michael’s breath flies from him as pleasure licks through him.  He chokes out a loud moan, head slamming into James’ shoulder as he jerks through his climax until he can’t breathe, and he pulls out, chest heaving and body shaking.  James collapses beside him, back resting against the headboard.  “Okay?” James asks, trying to regain control of his breathing.

 

“I don’t—I don’t—fuck—know how you do that.”

 

James just smirks.  “I’m magical,” he jokes, and Michael whines, pushing him lightly.

 

“Magical,” Michael grumbles, rolling his eyes, “God, I feel like I was hit with a train.”  He fixes James with a lazy blue stare, and James’ smirk widens.

 

“I’m not even done with you,” he purrs, leaning down to kiss Michael.  “I want you to _destroy_ me.”

 

“Oh, trust me—” Michael grins wickedly, “—I’m going to.”

 

And that was how the rest of the day played out.  On the bed again, slow and rough, in the shower, on their knees, and against the kitchen counter, just before dinner.

 

“I just might die,” Michael pants against James’ chest before licking his tongue out to taste the younger man’s salty skin.  James grunts, the muscles in his stomach flexing, and Michael nods before pulling out and slowly lowering James’ legs from his shoulders.  He reaches his arms around James’ waist to help him down, and they set about dressing before Michael puts a pot of water on to boil.  Their night becomes relatively simple after that, just dinner and a movie, which Michael passes out halfway through.  James decidedly finishes it, and he shifts carefully, but Michael wakes anyway when he gets off the couch.  “I’m sorry,” Michael mumbles, rubbing his eyes, “I keep falling asleep on you.”

 

“It’s okay,” James whispers, kisses him, and then makes his way to the kitchen to put away their popcorn bowl.  They go upstairs after, and they’re out cold in seconds.

 

\--

 

_Two weeks later._

“Are you sure this is okay?” James asks, touching Michael’s wrist.  A camera flashes.

 

“You want this, right?  I thought we agreed to this.”

 

James nods.  “I want the world to know that I love you.”

 

Michael beams and laces their hands.  A camera flashes.  “And I love you,” he murmurs happily.  He lets their hands drop away again to better hold his bags.

 

James switches his suit bag back to its previous hand.  Flash, flash, flash.  “I just don’t want to ruin your night.”

 

“It’ll be twice the story,” Michael jokes, “Michael Fassbender wins best actor and attends with another _man_.  I can just imagine the fangirling.”

 

James laughs before they get in the car waiting for them.  The reporters at the hotel are even worse.  James has done this countless times, and so he understands how to play this game.  Except Michael pitches a curve ball.

 

They’re almost inside, having pushed through the crowd, and Michael’s agent is just opening the door when Michael nudges James.  “Yea?” he says, and Michael just grins before leaning down to kiss James’ temple.

 

“I just love you is all.”

 

James is a little shell-shocked, and the roar of the crowd is deafening until _finally_ , they’re inside.  The afternoon goes by in a blur of smoke, alcohol, and sex until they’re dressing and readying to leave.  Michael can’t stop moving, his nerves shot to hell.  And then they’re there.

 

“You ready?” Michael asks as the car pulls up and the flashes pierce the tinted windows.  James smiles before leaning over and kissing Michael lovingly.  There’s this pause of shock when they step out before chaos erupts.  They make it through the fans slowly, Michael smiling and posing and signing.  “Are you here _with_ James?” he hears a million and one times.  He laughs and winks everytime.

 

And then he hits the first reporter.  “Michael, your plus one is interesting.  Not many people bring friends.”

 

“Friends,” Michael repeats as James makes his way over from the fan line.

 

“Well, rumors have flown.  I’m sure you wish to clear them.”

 

“Hey,” Michael greets, fanning his hand over James’ lower back and smiling.  “Yes.  James and I are here together.  As quite a bit more than friends.”

 

The noise is thunderous.  “Michael, Michael!  Is James your date?”

 

“And his lover.”

 

“Boyfriend is such a sappy word.”

 

“It does fit, though.”

 

“So, you’re dating?”

 

“I love James McAvoy.”

 

The kiss, however, was what trumped everything.  “And I’d like to thank my adoring James.  You are my light.”  Award in hand and looking down directly at James.  He’s glowing after the ceremony, heading back down the red carpet, and when he’s finally found champagne for his award, he takes James’ wrist, and kisses him in front of everything.  “I won,” he whispers, and James just laughs breathlessly before kissing him in return.  The cameras go insane.  They remain close together for the rest of the night save for when Michael goes to pose solo with his award.  They go out for a celebratory dinner before stopping at a bar, and, when they finally find their way back to the hotel, James is staggering, and Michael can’t stop grinning.

 

“Are you a sleepy drunk?” Michael asks suddenly, curling one hand around James’ hip and turning him.  He mashes their mouths together, and it’s all teeth and tongue as Michael bites at his lips and James pushes his mouth open until they’re kissing fiercely and deeply.

 

“I’m kind of loud and obnoxious,” James admits when they part, and Michael snorts.

 

“I am well aware of that.  God, I don’t even think you know how to _not_ shout when you’re drunk.”

 

“I’m an attention whore.”

 

“You’re just my whore.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Doesn’t work that way, baby,” Michael purrs as he drops his chin and pushes James’ jaw  up, attacking his neck as his hands travel to his ass and squeeze the younger man closer.  “Ich will in dir sein, und ich will dich schreien, **(I want to be inside of you, and I want to make you scream)** ” Michael suddenly whispers before lapping his tongue over James’ smooth neck, and James melts into his touch, moaning.  “Ich möchte lhnen zu zerstören. **(I want to destroy you)** ”

 

“Michael,” James gasps, grinding up into him, “God, Michael.”

 

“Prie. **(Beg)** ”

 

The French command comes out as a growl, and James groans, grabbing at Michael’s shirt until Michael snatches up his wrists and slams James against the wall.  They mold against one another, pressed tightly, as Michael stares down at James, both their chests heaving.

 

“Prie.”

 

“Michael,” James pants, groaning when the older man leans forward and bites softly at his jaw, “Michael, s’il vous plaît **(please)**.  S’il vous plaît.  S’il vous plaît.  Je veux—je veux,” James slams his head against the wall as Michael grinds up into him, and the friction is unbearable, “Je veux que tu l’intérieur de moi **(I want you inside of me)** ,” he rushes out, swallowing thickly.  Michael licks around the corner of his jaw that goes up to his ear, and James gasps, breath rushing out as he desperately tries to wriggle his wrists free.  Michael grasps them tighter before taking James’ collar in between his teeth and pulling it down so that he can reach his chest and collarbone where he licks and bites before sinking his teeth into the curve of James’ neck that melds into his shoulder, and James whimpers, sinking into Michael’s touch.  “Je tiens àvous sentir partout **(I want to feel you everywhere)** ,” he manages before, suddenly, Michael lets go of his wrists and takes James’ thighs, pushing them apart and yanking his zipper down.  “Emmène-moi.  Tout de moi. **(Take me.  All of me)**  Ich bin dein.  **(I am yours)** ”  Michael looks up at these words, James’ nearly solid German, and he can see the love in Michael’s eyes.

 

Michael drops to his knees, bringing James’ clinging jeans with him, and it is a sight James will never get used to.  Michael looks up at him before he takes the tip of James’ cock in his mouth, and James knows what that look means, but he doesn’t move his hand.  When Michael flashes his gaze back up, James swallows, trying to concentrate on Michael’s eyes for the moment and not the way his tongue is darting out to pressure the vein.

 

“Am I allowed?” he asks, his voice rough and husky.

 

Michael’s shoulders sag a little, and he blinks his eyes.  James reaches a hand forward and fists it in Michael’s growing red curls, eyes rolling back as Michael takes all of him, one of his free hands coming up to cup James’ balls, squeezing lightly and making his body shake and squirm against the wall.  When he dares open his eyes again, when Michael’s gaze is gone and it’s just his tongue and lips around James’ cock, he sees Michael’s own dick in his other free hand, slow and languid.

 

“Michael,” he groans, and there are his blue eyes, flashing up, and he blinks again.  He releases James’ balls to steady himself with one hand curled loosely around James’ thigh and then he gives James the freedom to fuck his mouth.  He’s nearly there, not quite that close, but he can feel the fire licking down his spine and pooling in his belly, and he knows Michael will be sore, but he so badly wants to finish, and so he lets his hips go, inhibitions gone, and he fucks fast and hungry, moaning when Michael takes all of him each time, the head of his cock rubbing against the back of Michael’s throat.

 

Michael shifts suddenly, arching a little, and James’ darkened gaze flicks to his hand, and he suddenly knows Michael is close, just by the way the muscles in his shoulders bunch, visible even under the t-shirt.  “Michael,” he gasps, tugging lightly at his hair, and Michael’s lips tighten suddenly, and it’s all over.  James’ head meets the wall again as he comes, crying out and gasping.  James’ sounds and taste send Michael over the edge, and he pulls off of James, swallowing before a choked groan breaks from him and he spills out into his hand.

 

He sits there, head bent, against his heels, panting as James slowly recovers against the wall.  He takes his hand from James’ thigh to rub his jaw, already aching, and it’s a few moments before he can get up, his legs a little wobbly.  When they’re all cleaned up, they head to the bathroom, and they have sex in the shower, pressed up against the wall with the water raining down on them, and Michael gasping into James’ neck until he breaks into a scream, and James considers it a massive triumph.

 

\--

 

_One week later._

Michael twists awake the same time a hand clamps down on his shoulder and shakes him.  He inhales sharply and flies from the bed, chest heaving and drenched in a cold sweat.  Something mumbled is said, but all he can hear is blooding roaring in his ears.  His eyes are unfocused, and his vision is swimming.  All he can see is fire.

 

“Michael,” the voice says, mostly clear this time.  He feels like his heard is going to rip right out of his chest; there’s no way it can beat this fast without shattering.  “Michael.”  A hand touches his back, and he flinches away violently as if he’s been slapped, gaze searching for— _James_.

 

Relief floods him, and Michael’s rigid body sags, his breath rushing out in a loud, raspy exhale.  His vision starts to focus, and the flames slowly disappear.  “Are you okay?” James asks softly, pushing off his elbows and letting the blankets drop to his waist.  Michael nods slowly, concentrating on the hammering in his chest.  “Were you having a nightmare?”  He doesn’t want to respond, doesn’t want James to know what he just relived, what he can never hide from.  His fingers flit absentmindedly to his thigh where the small patch of skin is forever scarred, forever hairless, forever something he always flinches away from, a permanent reminder of his youth.

 

“Michael,” James says softly, touching the small of his back where another white scar is etched into his skin from another tragedy.  His chin drops because he doesn’t want to let James see the way his blue eyes glaze over.  “I’m gonna get you a water, alright?  Do you want anything else?  Maybe some nectar of the gods?”  At this, he lifts his gaze, and James clicks his tongue before wrapping his arms tightly around Michael.  “Talk to me.”  It’s a standard request, and it’s _James_ , but it breaks Michael, and he pushes away, climbing over James and off the bed.

 

His hands shake as he snatches his cigarettes and lighter off the dresser.  He grabs his sweatshirt from the chair, and he shoves his legs angrily into a pair of sweats before ripping open the sliding door to the hotel balcony.  A bottle of whiskey is still there from a previous night of cards and chess.  He slams the door shut behind him, takes a moment, and then drags the chair off to where the curtain is so James can’t see him.  His book of Rilke is out here, too, and he pulls it toward him, opening to a page at random in the beginning and reading.

 

_I go always from door to door,_

_rain-soaked and sun-scorched;_

_suddenly I’ll lay my right ear_

_in my right hand._

_Then the voice sounds to me_

_like something I’ve never heard before._

_Then I can’t say for sure who’s screaming there,_

_I or someone else._

_I scream out for some little trifle._

_The poets scream for more._

_And finally I’ll close my face_

_using both eyes;_

_the way it lies then in my hand with its weight_

_looks almost like rest._

_So they won’t think I hadn’t any place_

_to put my head._

It calms him immediately, and he lights a cigarette, inhaling gratefully.  He’s been cutting back a little because he knows how James worries, but it’s been driving him absolutely mental.  His hands shake a lot more lately, and he’s not sure how much longer he can be considerate.

 

He occasionally grabs for a gulp of whiskey, and his Rilke lies open on his lap, the spine bent and curled so many times that it never really closes anymore.  He gets halfway through the book, dog-earing favorites, the rest of his pack, and one-third of the remaining whiskey by the time the sun is beginning to rise.  Only then, when he doesn’t have to fear the dark, does he put Rilke on his front cover, the whiskey on the floor, and his last drafts are slow and lazy as his eyes droop.

 

James finds him this way.  He caps the whiskey, puts the book back in the room, and he snubs out the nearly-dead cigarette still balanced between his fingers.  James sighs and touches his wrinkled forehead, furrowed in another unpleasant dream.  “Michael,” he says softly, fingers caressing his face lightly.  One thumb rubs the patch of darkening skin under one of his eyes.  “What’s going on with you?” he sighs, hand moving to his hair and running through the short red strands.

 

Michael leans instinctively into the touch, and the furrow of his brow vanishes.  “James,” he breathes, and James smiles fondly.

 

“Are you awake?”

 

“Getting there,” Michael mumbles before sighing and stretching.  When his blue eyes open, he finds James’ face and frowns.  “I’m sorry.”  James shrugs.  “No,” Michael says, taking his hand and sitting up, “I am.  I just—I got shit in my head.  I’m okay.  I’ll be okay.  I love you.”

 

“I love you, too,” James responds before leaning forward to kiss him, “Just let me know if I can help in any way.”

 

“I’m going to make you pancakes when we get back.”

 

“I _worship_ pancakes.”

 

“And my cock.”

 

James rolls his eyes, but Michael just smiles adorably before James straightens and holds out his hand.  Together, they go into the room and get ready for the day.

 

\--

 

_One week later._

“I want to watch _Fish Tank_.”

 

“And I want to watch _Three Days of Rain_.  I _know_ you have a DVD.”

 

James looks at him.

 

Michael shrugs.

 

They’re in the bedroom, James’ head at Michael’s feet and vice verse.  The sun is warm for once, and Michael has put on some ambient-drenched music that is lulling them into an incredible state of calm, smoke curling through the bright room.

 

“You have to promise me you won’t freak out.”

 

“I still haven’t looked up whatever it is you don’t want me to see.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t want you to see it. I just don’t want you to think badly of me.”

 

“Is it worse than _Shame_?  Because I freaking loved that.”

 

“Well—”

 

“Come on.”

 

“Fine.  We’re watching _Three Days_ , though, and I don’t care how much you whine.”

 

They don’t move, though, just continue to lie together until Michael grunts and toes at James’ shoulder.  “What?”

 

“Come snuggle with me, mein libeling.”

 

James smiles before rolling and turning until he’s lying on his side next to Michael, who tugs him closer until he’s against him, head resting on his shoulder and arm draped over his chest.  Michael touches his arm, a light, fluttering grace, and James responds with a soft kiss on the neck.  He waits until Michael’s smoke is floating away in lazy circles before speaking, “I’m really happy here.”

 

“I’m glad,” Michael whispers, kissing the top of his head.  “Don’t ever leave me, okay?”

 

“Jamais,” James murmurs, and Michael beams.

 

James tilts his head up, and Michael stares at him a moment before connecting their mouths, soft and adoring.

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


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